


Come Quietly

by grogurianchant



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:13:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28654794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grogurianchant/pseuds/grogurianchant
Summary: You're worth a lot of money, hot or cold. And this Mandalorian won't get off your ass.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

You didn’t like Tatooine. You didn’t like the barren deserts. You didn’t like the dust, the arid wind. And you certainly didn’t like the goddamn Jawas. You’d already almost lost one of your favorite spears to them, having to wrestle it out of the little demon’s hands and rap him over the head with it. However, you didn’t have much choice regarding when and where you landed when you didn’t own a ship and relied completely on the kindness of strangers to scoot you along the Outer Rim. And maybe it was stupid to hitchhike with only your backpack, the spear, and a handful of credits to your name, but you really had no other choice. Keep moving or get moved on.

A soft huff escaped chapped lips as you shook your head, tightening your hood around your neck and pulling it forward so that it shadowed more of your face. You watched your feet kick up little clouds of dust as you shuffled along the street, avoiding eye contact with everyone you passed. At this point, you weren’t sure who’d recognize you, and out of those who did, who would want your head on a platter. After all, it was Mos Eisley. Anyone- anything- could be here.

You came to a slow stop, peeking up as a door opened to the right and a few men spilled out of a bar to the tune of raucous laughter and faint live music. It was dark and hazy, and you needed a damn drink. And so, against your better judgement, you slipped past the men and entered the bar. It was hot, but you didn’t dare take your hood down; not yet.

A few minutes and an overpriced fizzling drink later, you found yourself sitting in the back corner, faced away from the crowd. You allowed yourself a sigh of relief, shoulders untensing a bit as you leaned back against the booth and took a few long sips. Your eyes were a bit unfocused as you let yourself decompress, staring at the stone wall a bit blankly. You couldn’t help but mull over the dramatics of it all. You helped smuggle a few things here, snag a couple of artifacts there. You knew plenty of other higher profile smugglers who didn’t have to go to the same lengths.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear the way the general chatter stuttered, the way a glass shattered as it was dropped behind the bar. It quickly picked back up, so there was nothing to worry about. Not until the sound of metal slammed down onto the table in front of you startled you back into the heated reality of the cantina. You blinked quickly, setting your drink down so quickly the liquid sloshed over the sides and wetted your fingers.

A holographic image of yourself stared back at you, its eyes distant and bored and hair wildly strewn across your face. Your heart stopped briefly before it began to pound heavily.

“Bold move stepping foot in such a populated spaceport,” a low, filtered voice murmured.

There was a lump in your throat you couldn’t swallow as you slowly looked up, so you chewed on the inside of your cheek instead. His armor was so polished you could see yourself in it. And you looked scared, which pissed you off. You grit your teeth, throwing a quick glance over your shoulder before meeting the Mandalorian’s gaze (could you call it that when you couldn’t even see his face?) once more.

“Wasn’t planning on staying long,” you offered quietly.

“I wouldn’t think you would.” He settled down in the booth across from you, pointedly setting a charged blaster down onto the table and folding his hands casually.

Your eyes flickered to the puck, lip curling a bit. “Can you shut that thing off? Not my best hair day.”

You weren’t sure if the sound that came from the helmet was a laugh or a breath of unamused condescension, but he reached forward and clicked it off, pocketing it once more. “Price is pretty high for a…” He trailed off, tilting his head to the side.

You raised an eyebrow, forgetting for a moment you were sitting in front of someone who’d easily drag you by your hair to whoever paid him the most. “For a what?”

This time it certainly was a laugh, and he leaned forward, absently spinning the gun in lazy circles. “For a girl that can’t keep even track of her weapon properly.”  
Your stomach flipped, and you sat up, twisting to see that your spear was no longer leaning against the booth at your side. Another desperate glance revealed it laid on the ground between the Mandalorian’s feet.

“Listen-”

“Bargaining doesn’t work sweetheart.”

“- I don’t know what they paid you, but-” you stuttered briefly. “Sweetheart? Who do you think I am, I’m not-”

“You’re a smuggler with a hefty amount of money on your head, that’s who.” The man’s tone wavered on dangerously annoyed at this point. “I’d wager you have no idea how much you’re worth right now.”

You said nothing, eyes flickering down to your spear once more.

“I wouldn’t.”

“What would you do?” You snapped.

“Come quietly.”

“Or?”

There was a beat of silence in which the Mandalorian simply stared at you, and you felt your cheeks heating by the second. He shrugged one shoulder and subtly ran a few fingers along the blaster on the table, maneuvering it so that it was aimed at your chest. “I’d rather you warm, but the price for cold isn’t too bad, either.” His voice was low and calculated.

You sighed shakily, glancing towards your drink and raising an eyebrow. “Can I at least finish my drink? Maybe hit the ladies room? I mean, I don’t know how long of-”

“Finish your drink.” It was a command more than an agreement, and his gaze never left you as you raised the glass to your lips once more.

“You like to watch,” you joked lamely.

“Mm.”

You shifted slightly, setting your glass back down on the table unfinished. You didn’t have the stomach for it anymore. “I guess we should go.”

“I guess.”

“Cryptic,” you muttered under your breath, standing and wrapping your jacket a bit tighter around yourself and pulling your hood back up.

“Mm.”

“Gonna let me hold my spear?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Right.”

You shook your head as you headed for the entrance, hyper aware of the Mandalorian walking closely behind you. “One question.” There was no answer, and you took that as permission. “How bad do you need that warm money?”

“What?”

Before you could take another breath, you lurched to the side, grabbing the nearest man and wrapping your arm around his midriff, spinning him so he faced the Mandalorian, who already had his blaster out and ready. “I think that Beskar looks pretty damn shiny,” you breathed, hanging tight to the squirming man and keeping him in front of you. “And I think you wouldn’t hurt someone you didn’t have it out for, either.” You took a step back, heart pounding so loudly you were sure the entire system would hear.

“Don’t do this.”

“I made it too easy for you the first time. I should get a do-over, don’t you think?”

You stared at the gun’s barrel for another moment before suddenly heaving the poor man forward and taking off in the opposite direction. The first alley you found, you spun into. It was narrow, but you fit easily. Your heart pounded in your ears as you ran, eyes flitting back and forth desperately as you burst out into the sunlight on the other side. You seemed to have stumbled into a market, earning a few disapproving stares. You flicked your hood back up onto your head, squeezing your hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

You’d no sooner taken another step when you felt a heavy arm wrap around your neck from behind and the cool metal of the blaster against your neck. The Mandalorian’s armor was cool against your back even through your jacket, and you could feel his chest rising and falling.

“I don’t have time for do-overs, sweetheart.” The voice was low and vaguely staticky in your ear. His arm tightened, and you gasped softly, stars beginning to swim in your eyes. “I figured before that you’d want some dignity walking out of there on your own two feet, but I guess I’m gonna have to do it for you if you can’t control yourself.”

His words faded along with your vision as oxygen became increasingly unavailable, and just as your knees began to buckle, his weight shifted from around your shoulders to under your legs and around your waist as he scooped you up.

“And to answer your question,” he sighed. “There’s not a lot I’d stop at to get that warm money.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have a lovely tableside chat with your captor.

You’d been in handcuffs before; that wasn’t the issue. Your arms had gone numb behind your back by this point. The issue lay in the fact that your ankles were tied together, little slack allowed between you and the rig it was knotted to on the wall. An experimental shift of your legs told you that you weren’t getting anywhere anytime soon, nor were your hands going to separate in the near future, either.

“Comfy?”

“Could do with a pillow,” you muttered, adjusting with a slight arch of your back before relaxing it back against the wall.

“Could do with some carbonite,” came the witty response, and you squinted up at the Mandalorian as the lights in the small room flickered on. 

“Why don’t you freeze me?” You pushed, eyeing the man as he crouched in front of you.

His elbows rested on his knees, hands hanging casually between his legs. “Told them I’d bring you in warm.”

You raised a brow, tilting your head to the side a bit. “You’re funny.” It came out flat.

“I’m being nice.”

“I think we have different definitions of nice,” you grumbled, yanking your leg up a bit and feeling the rope bite into your ankles.

“Cool it,” he warned, gloved hand swiftly moving to press down against your thigh.

You swallowed, staring up at the helmeted man. You couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like under the armor. Wondered if the face matched the voice. “Is that real Beskar?” You blurted out curiously.

You received no answer, only a release of pressure from your leg as he stood abruptly and left the room once more. You watched the doorway, listening to the heavy footsteps retreat, then become louder once more. When he reappeared, he was holding a loaf of bread.

“I’m a bit indisposed at the moment,” you quipped, wriggling your shoulders a bit as if to remind him you were cuffed.

Again, he said nothing, but came to squat in front of you again. He held out the bread towards your face, and your lips parted a bit, jaw tight. “Really?” You mumbled.

“Hungry?”

“No.”

“Alright.” 

He pulled the bread back and made as if to stand again.

“Wait-” you sighed reluctantly, and the man paused. “Just give me the bread.”

“You’re a bit indisposed at the moment,” he repeated, and you could almost hear the smirk in the filtered voice.

You clenched your teeth, looking away for a moment. “So what do you suggest?” It was quiet, and when you turned your head back to face him, you came eye to eye with the bread. Your gaze flickered from it to the helmet quickly.

“Hungry?” He repeated.

You shook your head slightly before leaning forward. You avoided eye contact as you took a bite, wincing at the stale crust. As you chewed, you leaned back, still avoiding looking up at the Beskar-clad brute. “You could just uncuff me, you know,” you muttered after a thick swallow.

“I could.” A soft clank as he shrugged one shoulder. “But I won’t.” He offered the bread again.

“Not like I can go anywhere, anyway,” you added, leaning forward and taking another bite. This time, you kept your eyes trained on the helmet’s visor. You studied it, looking for any translucency to catch a glimpse of the man inside. 

“Certainly the point,” he responded with another little shrug.

You paused, swallowing the next bite. “Really though… why didn’t you just freeze me?”

But it was radio silence again, and you felt a flash of heated frustration roll through your body. You were finished with the bread, and you shook your head when he held it out again. 

“Can you at least tell me who’s paying you for this?”

“No.”

“Worried I’m gonna get away?”

“No.”

“Scared of me?”

A scoff. “No.”

“Think I’m good looking?”

Silence. Oh? You couldn’t help but grin slightly, leaning your head back against the wall. “Yeah…” You sighed. 

“Are you going to eat any more, or am I leaving again?”

You shrugged. “Are you gonna answer my questions?”

“No.”

“Then I guess you’re leaving again.”

Something in your voice must have triggered something in the Mandalorian, because he was suddenly inches from your face. You could feel the warmth of your own breath bouncing off of the helmet back to you. His hand was on your thigh, fingers squeezing tightly enough to make you squirm. 

“Don’t act like you have any authority here.” You didn’t know how the modulator managed to translate rasp, but it did, and you couldn’t control the way your spine seemed to tingle.

“I’m keeping you here out of the kindness of my own heart, but if that’s the way you want to be, I have no problem with throwing you right in with the Myrthol.” You didn’t even know who he was referring to, but you couldn’t make yourself care at this point. “Don’t make me regret it,” He added lowly.

You blinked a few times, leg trembling slightly under his grip. You wanted to scream, to fight. Run, because that’s what you’d always done. But all that came out was a little hum and a taught nod of your head.

“Good girl.”


End file.
